


boreuon-ar-ôl // mornings-after

by Cân Cennau (gwenynnefydd)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Cerddi Ffanyddol, Elim Garak POV, Established Relationship, Fan Poetry, Fluff, M/M, Metaphors, Other, Rhamant Sefydliedig, Sgwennu Clyd, Trosiadau
Language: Cymraeg
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 18:42:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18610291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenynnefydd/pseuds/C%C3%A2n%20Cennau
Summary: Cerdd gloi ar fy hoff bois, yn edrych ar gydbwysedd eu hangenion preifatrwydd a'i hangenion cariadol.Cyfieithiad Saesneg wedi'i chynnwys.--A quick poem for my fave bois, examining the balance of their need for privacy and their need for affection.English translation included.





	boreuon-ar-ôl // mornings-after

**boreuon-ar-ôl** | **mornings-after**  
---|---  
Cysglyd a thwym, fe deffrym  
yn y gwely, crychion gynnes y cynfas  
ein olion wrth i ni shifflo i’r gegin.  
Dwylo wyr tyner ar boliau meddal,  
chwareuym fel par brîod, cwtchio  
wrth i’r coffi staeno’r mwgiau  
a’r bara’n llosgi yn arafder gwawr.  
  
Daw’n modrwyau o gwpanau coffi  
a phriodym tost a jam a menyn  
yn creu olion ar ein wefusau a’r bwrdd.  
Ymddiheiryt ti am y llanast, cysan  
fel taliad, blasaf ŷd a siwgr melys  
a fe maddeuwn i ti yn fodlon,  
bysedd yn tracio’n holion o nos ddoe.  
  
Ni allai dy garu fel wraig priod, bert,  
Ond ni fasai’n clirio’r bwrdd.  
Cadwaf yr olion  
O’n boreuon-ar-ôl. | Warm and sleepy, we wake  
in the bed, the warm creases of the duvet  
our marks, as we shuffle to the kitchen.  
The hands of tender men on our soft bellies,  
we play like a married pair, cuddling  
as coffee stains our mugs  
and the toast burns in dawn's slowness.  
  
The rings come from cups of coffee  
and we marry toast and jam and butter  
leaving marks on our lips and the table.  
You apologize for the mess, kiss  
like a toll, I taste wheat and sweet sugar  
and I forgive you willingly,  
fingers tracking our prints from last night.  
  
I cannot love you like a pretty wife,  
But I wouldn't clear the table.  
I'd keep the marks  
of our mornings-after.


End file.
